


Opiates

by ladybugseatppl



Category: TwitchRP, gta5 rp
Genre: Addiction, F/M, M/M, Multi, Recovery, TwitchRP - Freeform, hurt comfort, twitch rp - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:54:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23440519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladybugseatppl/pseuds/ladybugseatppl
Summary: *UNFINISHED*--Not many people know Forester's medical history, not many people care enough to ask. They don't know how he's struggled with addiction before, and now when he's not there to be super cop anymore, people want to listen.Luckily for Paul, his best friend on the force does care. And Shyn would do anything to help him get better.
Relationships: Shyn Dristane/Paul Forester, Shyn Dristane/Trish Dristrane
Kudos: 3





	Opiates

Not many people know that much about Forester. Not many people care to learn his history, his life, his troubles. He’s the super cop, right? The one that goes to every call, does everything. He’s a captain, he’s... him. So no one ever needs to check up on the guy that does everything. 

So every single time he goes down, gets shot, it’s not a huge deal right? People are concerned to the level they need to be, but outside of that it’s always him with stitches doing the same work that no one else is responding to. It’s why he’s the captain. 

Well sometimes doctors make mistakes. Sometimes they add a shot of morphine to his drip- the one he protested, even though he went down with severe blood loss, again. It’s not their fault, only one nurse knew his file. Knew his problem with addiction... knew him. 

Knew rationally he would prefer Ibuprofen or something and carry on. Today was different, today was a long day, one in a long week. A long month... you get the idea. 

Depression is a bitch, and sometimes he missed the feeling of floating. Maybe it was the gun shot in his thigh. The same thigh that had been shot so many times before. He felt like Swiss cheese the amount of times he’s had bullets pounded into him. So what’s one shot of morphine? 

He thought about saying no, but the new doctor didn’t really give him a chance. He just watched with hazy eyes as the needle went into the drip. He could feel it travel into his bloodstream, starting from his arm. That sharp burn before it went into the back of his neck. It didn’t numb the pain at first, it just made him feel tingly before his problems stopped mattering.

His hand fished for his phone- he knew he should tell Shyn- but it was his day off. He was with his wife, when did they ever get a day off together? 

Paul dropped his phone, then giggled when it hit just the wrong way. He’s dropped it a thousand times, why was today the day it hit the power button and broke? He just leaned over, groaning at the stretch. But he just stared at the phone, how it powered off after the screen flickered. 

So he leaned back, letting it stay on the floor as useless as he was, and he enjoyed the extra shot of morphine when the doctor came back to check on him. 

After he was cleared to leave, and he was handed discharge papers, the doctor gave him a smile and reminded him to take it easy, advice Paul has never taken. But he also said something else...

“And I included a script for Vicodin. It’s the generic kind, but it works the same. It’ll take that pain off till it heals.”

And Paul opened his mouth in that still hazy state, thought about it, then closed his mouth with a smile. 

“Thanks, doc.” 

He knew it was wrong, he knew he shouldn’t have hobbled over to the pharmacy, knew during the twenty minutes it took to fill it that he shouldn’t. That he had a problem before. That if Trish was on duty, she would have taken care of him... Reminded him he couldn’t succumb. 

No one was there to pick him up. He thought about that as he grabbed his phone, playing with the buttons to no avail. Just a black, shattered screen by the power button. So instead of his phone, he went to the bottle in the paper bag. And he dry swallowed just one. Just for now. After all, he could feel the morphine wearing off and he was going to have to walk home. 

...

He took four in an hour. Time meant nothing anyway. He was hazy, woozy, his stomach sour and where was his goddamn bike? 

At some point, unbeknownst to Paul, Jerry the Breaker happened to walk by him, sitting at a bench with his eyes glossed over and a smile on his face that didn’t match the levels of shit he needed to be worried about. 

Well he vaguely remembered being hoisted up and lead into Fingle Dan’s car. He remembered thinking he needed to call a kidnapping or something, but he didn’t have his radio on. And then he remembered Jerry messing with his pockets, trying to find his house keys to let him in. 

“Why are you helping me?” Paul hummed as he rested on Jerry’s much bulkier but shorter form. Very short. Was Jerry always so short? He turned to cup Jerry’s face in his hands and to stare into those eyes. “Jerry, you’re my only friend,” Jerry let out a soft laugh as he got the door to swing open. Both ignored whatever Fingle was on about back at the street side. 

“C’mon Paul, let’s get you into bed.” 

And then Jerry left him in his bed, with no shirt on (which was a struggle on Jerry’s part, and he quickly gave up trying to get Paul into sweatpants), with no phone, with nothing. And that feeling of loneliness crept up and put him to sleep with another two pills. 

...

Paul woke up with the driest throat in the world. He groggily slapped his alarm clock off, becoming aware of the fact he didn’t have his phone to check. Fuck. He still had picked it up, staring at the black screen. No matter how many times he pressed the power button, it never turned on. He fished for the charger and plugged it in but no little battery charging icon to alert it would turn on. 

He laid in bed, slowly coming to terms with the day. Then his eyes drifted to the pill bottle that sat on his nightstand. Did Jerry put that there? There was a cup of water too. He fished for it, splashing water around to drown the two pills in the morning. Breakfast. And a very bad idea.

Was he even hurting? He couldn’t be sure, everything felt like a bad hangover. Ached. But his mind wondered to that blissful ignorance, one way to cure that headache was to take more pills. 

Every task he managed, he took another one. He had the day off to recover, and spent taking care of things around the house. Well, kinda. Mostly he stumbled and threw away the empty take out containers. By the end of the day it seemed like suddenly his bottle was so low... surely he wasn’t taking that many? Weirder, because he swore he could still feel the weight of his wounds gnawing at him. But he stared at it, shaking it like it would fill back up. 

That night he couldn’t sleep. Once it ran out of his system he tossed and turned. He woke up groggy, and naturally his hand shot out to the bottle. 

Get dressed, go to work, still no phone.... And the bottle tucked safely in his vest in the phone pocket. 

“Jesus Forester, there you are. I tried calling you like twelve times.” Rico snarled the second Paul walked in the PD to check in. Paul stared back, blinking slowly as the haze over his brain fogged it.

“Phone’s broken.” He answered, licking his dry lips. 

“Get it fixed,” Rico grumbled then waved him off. “You good to patrol?” 

“Yes.” 

No. 

If there was a God in this world, then She personally sent the task to every criminal in the city to act out. So many calls to tell people to knock it off. So many arrests, so many searches...

“Narcotics?” He sighed, shaking a bottle he pulled off a thug. 

“That’s not mine!”

“Well it’s the evidence Locker’s now.” Paul slipped it into his vest pocket. He didn’t mean to, not really. But after he dropped that guy off, he pulled the bottle out and stared at it in his car. 

Then he dumped the rest into the bottle with his name and tossed the other bottle out the window into the ditch. 

The next few days were spent like that. It’s funny, every time he thought about his phone, he would reach in and find the bottle. So then he would take another. Dry swallowing at this point. No point in fussing to find water. 

If his work was slacking, no one said anything. He was content with his new routine. Maybe that included lurking in the more known drug heavy areas. Maybe it included making up a bullshit parking ticket to arrest a known dealer. Just to get something. Something small, you know? 

Maybe this new routine began to last for a couple weeks. Maybe it even lead with him looting the evidence locker too. No one would notice it. No one did their job to inventory it anyway. He was catching the same amount of criminals.

And maybe he was getting a little dependent. 

His hands would shake if it had been too long. Sweaty and the pain of all the scars and wounds seemed so fresh. Alcohol couldn’t ever take the edge off. And why was it so wrong to want to feel better? He had been shot so many times he was more gun powder and metal than person. He had to justify it because he knew it was wrong. 

One Dealer did something different. He had watched Paul pop a pill during the arrest and suddenly an idea came. “Hey, you let me go and I’ll get you more, whatever you want.” 

Paul shouldn't, but he looked the other way. And the next day a little bag waited for him. So he started looking the other way a lot more. 

He still didn’t get his phone fixed. 

It wasn’t very common Forester ever rode around with someone. And he was intentionally avoiding his fellow cops, they couldn’t know... Because deep down he knew he shouldn’t let them know. But Shyn practically cornered him with a relieved smile on his face. 

“Paul!” He slapped a hand over the man’s shoulder. Nearly knocking him off balance. “I haven’t seen you in so long. You’d think one of us had quit. Listen, we been calling you.” Shyn added, guiding Forester to the car garage with him. He made it pretty clear they would be patrolling together to catch up. 

Paul sputtered, his face heating up quickly. Shyn can’t find out... 

“Phone’s broken-“ he slurred. Waving a little wider than he meant. He just felt. Loose. Relaxed. Mellow. 

Shyn paused and turned to look at him. “You look like shit, Paul. When’s the last time you slept, or shaved?” To emphasize his point he grabbed Paul’s chin and ran his thumb over the beard growing. Paul’s heart raced faster, even more paranoid than before. 

“It’s been... I been. I been busy.” 

Shyn frowned, looking around before tugging him off to the side of the garage. 

“Your eyes are blown out.” He accused, tugging Paul’s sunglasses off him. Paul squinted at the light. Which wasn’t a lot to begin with. 

“Jesus, are you high?” Shyn growled in a hush whisper, putting the sunglasses back on. 

“It’s prescribed.” He shot back and the color drained from Shyn’s face. He pushed Paul against the wall and began to frisk him, ignoring his slapping hands like a toddler. Shyn didn’t have trouble cupping both his wrists with one hand above his head. And with the other hand he still procured a bottle. 

He kept Paul pinned as he leaned away to read the label. 

“The date on this is two and a half months ago.” With one hand, Shyn managed to twist the cap off to look inside. His disappointed sigh would rival a sober Paul. Whatever replaced Vicodin certainly didn’t look the part Paul supposed. 

“It’s not what it looks like,” Paul leaned his head back on the cool brick, eyes closing, giving in. Wouldn’t it be nice to just... let go for a minute. To stop taking care of everyone’s problems? To keep things simple? The drugs did that for him. 

“Oh I’m sure it’s actually a lot worse than what it looks like. C’mon. If I have to babysit you, I will.” He tugged Paul by the collar, dragging him to his cruiser. He forced Paul to sit and buckled him up for him. Which the man tried to protest, but he wasn’t stupid enough to argue with how angry Shyn seemed. 

The drive was quiet. 

“Where are we going?” Paul asked. And even when he knew he should be more stressed, his head still felt that haze of the pain killers. The many... many pain killers that were no longer just simple Vicodin. God who knows what he was taking anymore. 

“To do our job.” Shyn huffed.

Silence. 

Long. Silence. 

Finally he glanced over and sighed. “Why didn’t you tell me? You usually always tell me when the doctors mess up.” 

Paul opened his mouth. Looking at the concern. He wetted his lips again before answering. “My phone broke,” 

“So?!” 

“I... needed it. I need it.” He felt his hands shake. Next dose... next... “Please, I need it.” It wasn’t like Forester to beg. But his eyes were blown, his mind buzzing, he felt clammy. Nervous, the pills made that go away. 

And Shyn knew it was going to be a struggle to get him clean again. 

“I’ll take care of you,” he said softly. 

—

The shift was spent with Shyn taking all the calls. He wouldn’t let Forester do anything, and very carefully controlled the amount of pills he gave him. Weening him off would take time, and now wasn’t the time to start. 

And finally their shifts were over and instead of getting on his bike to go home, Shyn yelled his name and pointed to his own car. 

The drive home was... weird.

“Trish’s at Pillbox, so it’s just us.” 

“Oh.” 

“I’m calling Rico in the morning, telling him you’re not coming in.” Shyn was good at this, good at picking up the pieces when Paul broke down. He didn’t have to, Paul didn’t get why he did so anyway. Didn’t understand why he dragged him up to the bath tub and turned the water on. 

“First things first, take a damn bath will you? I’ll get you a towel and some clean clothes.” 

Shyn paused, then looked back and lifted the toilet lid. “Oh and by the way?” He dumped the entire bottle out, and flushed. “No more.” 

Paul watched with wide eyes, sputtering in disbelief. 

“Go. Shower.” 

After the shower Paul did feel a bit better, and Shyn was waiting for him with a pizza he heated up in the oven. 

“This is what’s gonna happen; we’re gonna detox you here, for how long it takes. Trish’ll make sure every doctor knows better. And till you get your head on straight, it’s house arrest.” 

“Uh, sounds... fair? Is that sausage?” 

“Good, glad we’re on the same page.” Shyn put two slices on the plates and carried them to the living room. 

The night was spent watching movies, ignoring the way Paul began to sweat, how he shook and grabbed Shyn’s arm desperately. 

“Tell me you have just...One more? Shyn, please, c’mon. You know quitting cold turkey is hard... dangerous.” 

Shyn was good at holding him, keeping him cocooned in his arms while smoothing his damp hair back. 

“You’re tough, you can do this. I’m here.” 

“I- I know…”


End file.
